


it's only natural

by ShaneShenanigans



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Cheesy, Fluff, Jealous Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, aziraphale is naughty, crowley sleeps around, smooches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 19:38:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19341244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShaneShenanigans/pseuds/ShaneShenanigans
Summary: Angels weren’t supposed to experience jealousy. Or were they? Supposedly God did, why shouldn’t angels? Why did they have to be better?Perhaps it was just in Aziraphale’s own view that the pedestal he’d put angels as a class on didn’t support emotions like jealousy. Too close to envy, or perhaps the same thing.Thinking about it in those terms didn’t make him feel any less green.





	it's only natural

**Author's Note:**

> 🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔  
> This just kind of happened and here ya go.
> 
> Aziraphale likes movies in this because I figured, since he likes theatre, he probably would have at least tried some movies and found some he likes? Crowley likes them because some of them are spooky.

It wasn’t the nicest place in London, but Aziraphale had already tried all the nicest places, which meant trying something new meant some place less nice. With his new found time off, Aziraphale found himself wanting to do a lot of trying something new. Most of the time he invited Crowley, because he could and because there was no one else he'd rather.

He’d just finished eating, and Crowley was still in the midst of deciding whether he was going to eat anything at all. That, or he’d never even considered it and was just pretending to for the sake of giving the waiter a hard time. Every time the man was in view Crowley would start studying his menu, furrowed brow and all. The waiter would make his way over, ask if he’d made a decision, and Crowley would hum with uncertainty, and mumble, and oo, and ah, and then eventually say he needed more time.

On the third go-around, Aziraphale got wise to it.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” Aziraphale accused. Crowley didn’t eat enough— not that demons needed to eat, but it was hard watching someone skirt around participating in all your favorite hobbies. Aziraphale was certain that if Crowley just tried more things he’d find the whole ongoing taste adventure just as exciting— how could you not?

So he’d been patient, and pleased that it seemed like Crowley was actually going to choose something that came on a plate rather than in a glass. Perhaps later he could get Crowley to read a few words from the page of a book. Progress!

“What?” Crowley’s response was confusion and concern.

“The waiter,” Aziraphale spoke lowly so the man in question didn’t over-hear. “Are you just trying to upset him? Are you practicing demonic miscreance right in front of me?”

“Oh,” Crowley looked down at the menu again, as if it had become his go-to ‘i don’t want to answer the question let me look at this thing’ object for the time being.

“…demonic miscreance…” Crowley mumbled as if to off-handedly criticize the phrase. “Is miscreance a word…?”

“Crowley!”

Crowley sighed harshly and closed the menu, setting it aside. “Yeah, all right, sorry, I was. Force of habit, I guess.”

Aziraphale huffed, and shook off his distaste as best he could, though feeling as if he’d been tainted by having been in the presence of—

“Oh please, Angel!” Crowley barked before he could finish the thought. “Don’t act like you’ve never done a temptation before on my behalf.”

Aziraphale nearly choked on the accusation, or maybe just on a sip of wine. “That was for the greater good and to hold up my end of the bargain!”

“Was it?” Crowley almost laughed. “I thought it was so next time I’d go do your miracles so you could stay home and install new old-looking bookshelves.”

Aziraphale deflated, frowning down at his plate.

“Well, tempting him to do something unsavory is better than making him angry and creating one of your chains of misery.”

“Oh? Is it?” Crowley considered, taking that far too literally as he looked over his shoulder at the waiter who was a few tables behind them. He was just finishing up taking another table’s order, and had just turned to head back to the kitchen which forced him to pass their table.

“Just be nicer,” Aziraphale requested. 

Crowley glanced over at him, shrugging with an “A’right,” like he’d gotten the message, and then turned back to look in the direction their waiter was coming from.

“Excuse me, Ian?” Crowley flagged him down. Aziraphale rolled his eyes, because up until that moment Crowley had been intentionally referring to the poor boy only as “hey you!” and “waiter!” despite having clearly remembered his name.

“Sorry for wasting your time, I guess I’m not actually that hungry,” Crowley went on as he picked up the menu and held it out to the man.

Aziraphale didn’t know what Crowley was up to now, but he wished he could have rescued the man. He probably should have. It was his job, after all. If Crowley was going to work during their time together, so could he, and—

“Oh…” the man gave pause. “It’s perfectly all right, all part of the job.” He looked and sounded far too chipper for how blatantly irritated he’d appeared with Crowley the last two times he’d been at their table.

“That’s very gracious of you to say, I appreciate that kind of patience.” Crowleys’ whole body was turned to face him, all his attention was pointed in the waiter’s direction, left arm hanging lankily over the back of his chair, left leg sprawled out sideways as he slouched. Aziraphale couldn’t have said it was the first time that slouch looked inviting, but it was the first time he was sure it was intentional.

The waiter hadn’t yet left, despite having Crowley’s menu in his hand, which five minutes ago was the only thing he’d wanted. He stood there still, smiling, face looking a little redder.

“Of course, sir,” the waiter said, too slowly as a little smirk rose to the edge of Crowley’s lips.

Aziraphale’s jaw dropped and then his lips slammed back together to tighten into a scowl.

“I’ll uh, take this back then…” Ian held up the menu awkwardly and nodded as if to assure himself of his own words. Aziraphale looked down at the empty plate in front of him, thinking that it was customary to remove dishes from the table as they were emptied. Ian was clearly too preoccupied to notice it.

“All right, go on,” Crowley nodded the man off with a little smile. The man nodded back, and started to walk. Unfortunately he’d started walking before he’d stopped looking at Crowley. Smiling over your shoulder and walking— a horrible combination in his line of work. Inevitably, he crashed into another server. Salad everywhere, vinaigrette all over the poor girl’s shirt, tomato soup up-side-down on her shoe— not a drop on Ian’s person, though.

“Sorry!” Ian apologized profusely as the waitress looked down at her state of dress in horror.

Crowley’s face was plain, and he turned back to Aziraphale casually after observing the scene for a few moments.

The look on Aziraphale’s face made him feel like he was going to be grounded for the rest of his life.

“What?!” Crowley exclaimed as Aziraphale’s tight lips and furrowed brow scolded and berated him from across the table. “I didn’t plan that!” He said, honestly, because he hadn’t. Maybe he’d considered the possibility, but—

“You were flirting with him!” Aziraphale leaned forward, whispering harshly. “You’re not supposed to come on to people while they’re working, I read it in a—,”

“Tempting! I was tempting him! No magic, still work.”

Aziraphale huffed. “I don’t think that qualifies as work,” he mumbled, sipping his cocoa.

“Well, if he went for it, he’d have a great time. You said you wanted me to be nicer. I’d have made it nice.”

“Just stop! Stop… doing demon things!” Aziraphale snapped in a low voice, trying not to draw any attention. “At least while I’m here. You don’t even need to, after all. Hell still thinks you’re invincible and immune to holy water. I put on quite a performance to earn you some time off their radar and yet here you are—“

“All right, all right!” Crowley cut him off, and Aziraphale’s mouth snapped shut. “You’re right, I don’t know what came over me to begin with. Just not used to it, is all.” he trailed off, and it was enough for Aziraphale that he looked a little guilty.

“If he comes onto me later, though, I’m not saying no.” Crowley’s voice was distant, as Aziraphale was currently in the middle of inconspicuously attempting to miracle the girl’s clothes clean while she wasn’t looking at them.

It took a few moments for him to realize what Crowley had said.

“You absolutely will say no!” Aziraphale had only gotten the right side of her white button-down de-dressinged. The left side was still sloshed with oil and seasoning, and he ended up leaving a straight line of clean vs. soiled down the middle of her torso.

“Why?” Crowley huffed, and Aziraphale found himself lost for an explanation. It wasn’t that the man was being tempted into something inherently sinful, unless one were to include sex out of wedlock, and Aziraphale hadn’t batted an eye about that in over a hundred years. Certainly, spending intimate time with a demon could effect the way you lean no matter how ignorant you are to the fact but that was the point, wasn’t it? Choices and influences, just like he’d always said.

Maybe it was just the way Crowley asked him why. Like it wasn’t just to make up for his earlier shenanigans. Like he _wanted_ to do it, and Aziraphale knew better than anyone that turning souls toward hell by whatever means wasn’t something Crowley particularly enjoyed. It was the other part he suspected he wanted.

“Because,” Aziraphale said, foolishly, as he hadn’t come up with anything to follow. So instead he said the first thing that came to mind. “I asked you to come here this evening and I won’t have you cutting it short just to go—,” Aziraphale stopped himself, not sure what to call it in their case, not even wanting to think about it.

“Oh, come on, Angel,” Crowley’s voice was plain and soft in contrast to Aziraphale’s distressed one. “I wasn’t going to run off and leave you after eating, I just meant I’d take his phone number or something.”

Crowley’s voice had started out calm and comforting but he’d ended in a place that sounded rather annoyed, and then snatched up his glass of wine to tilt it back against his mouth and emptied half of it. Aziraphale was curious about that but he was a little too concerned with feeling silly to read into it too much.

“Oh,” he nodded sharply. “That’s fine I suppose.”

As long as tonight’s plans hadn’t changed, it could all be considered fine.

Then _Ian_ reappeared, striding toward their table, looking all right despite having made a salad out of a woman a moment ago. Oh well, throughout the night Aziraphale had been polite with him and he had been in return. No reason to stop now.

He was holding one of those small black folders that contained their cheque. Aziraphale put a smile on his face and wiped his hands on his napkin before holding them out to accept it, and…

…the man strode right past him like he wasn’t even there, and held the leather-clad booklet out to Crowley, who took two whole seconds to even notice him. Aziraphale felt put off for a moment before deciding that perhaps Crowley merely looked like the type who would do the paying. Though, that in and out of itself was bothersome, considering he was the one who did all the eating.

But by the way _Ian_ leaned his hip against the table, back turned to Aziraphale, and by the smile you could hear in his voice, that wasn’t it at all. He’d just wanted an excuse to talk to Crowley, which probably meant the demon all but had him.

Aziraphale knew he didn’t have any reason to be genuinely worried about the human’s well-being but…

Lord, did it bother him. Especially when Ian shifted his weight from foot to foot, tilted his head, and the way Crowley smiled up at him. Crowley didn’t smile that often, and when he did it was usually not at some human. He had the book, and Aziraphale didn’t understand why the guy was still hanging around, until he realized Crowley had started filling it out right then and there.

Oh, just send him away! A little voice in Aziraphale’s head shouted as he grumpily started moving the silverware around for no reason. He sat there bubbling like a lava pit for what must’ve been all of five minutes as they chatted about whether the food was good or not. Crowley had said yes despite having not eaten anything, and there were long spaces between each sentence where they were just looking at each other and each one made Aziraphale want to chime in with something that would turn the other man off.

 _He won’t let you in his car, he shouts at plants, he walks funny, just wait until he takes off those sunglasses._ All of those and more came to mind but he managed to hold them down to the relief of his dignity until the man was finally walking away.

As soon as he did, Crowley held up a folded piece of paper between his first and forefinger and grinned at Aziraphale.

“Got it.” He said. Aziraphale hadn’t seen the exchange as he was too busy being disgusted, but apparently Crowley had gotten the man’s phone number.

“Don’t look so smug, of course you did, you’re a demon.” Aziraphale just felt like being mean.

“Don’t be like that, not like I messed with his head..” Crowley went on to do that pout that made Aziraphale’s insides soft as he tucked the phone number into his jacket pocket. It was enough to remind him to calm down before he made a fool of himself.

“Anyway,” Crowley drank down the rest of his wine in just a second. “Your place or mine?”

o-o-o-o

Angels weren’t supposed to experience jealousy. Or were they? Supposedly God did, why shouldn’t angels? Why did they have to be better?

Perhaps it was just in Aziraphale’s own view that the pedestal he’d put angels as a class on didn’t support emotions like jealousy. Too close to envy, or perhaps the same thing. 

Thinking about it in those terms didn’t make him feel any less green.

“You all right, Angel?” Crowley’s voice came from the driver’s seat, and Aziraphale was pointedly looking out the window.

“Perfectly,” he replied, taking a deep breath but keeping it silent. He was angry with himself more than anything, if only just for having such a difficult time stopping himself from feeling this way. He knew what Crowley got up to on occasion, but he’d never watched it occur in front of him before. Plus, it was the way Crowley looked when he did it. It wasn’t a trip to one of those unsavory places where everyone was already looking for sex. It was just a normal man, who appeared to want Crowley in a normal way, and who Crowley seemed to…

He thumped his head against the glass to crush his train of thought.

“Owe,” harder than he’d intended.

“Watch it,” Crowley said. “You all right?”

Crowley was awful, just awful, with his gentle voice full of concern and the way they dropped speed as he his concern grew.

“You already asked that,” Aziraphale said softly, and he didn’t hear another word from Crowley for the rest of the ride.

o-o-o-o

Aziraphale listened to the sound of Crowley dropping his keys onto a flat surface from behind him as he had many times since the world didn’t end. He didn’t frequent Crowley’s apartment much before then, but since he seemed to end up there a few nights a week at least. Crowley always held the door, just like Azirphale did when it was his bookshop they were settling at. He always closed the door softly behind them and then set down his keys before walking past Aziraphale casually while taking off his jacket.

Aziraphale watched him quietly. Watched him saunter across the room like he did and head straight for his plants, snatching up the mister along the way. He hoped the plants had been behaving lately. He wasn’t in the mood to witness another… violent disposal.

Once Crowley had busied himself, Aziraphale found it difficult not to glance at the jacket that Crowley had hung on a rack next to the doorway to the plant nursery. So he did, eyes zeroing in on the right clavicle area where there was a pocket on the inside with a small piece of paper inside it.

He shook his head, feeling increasingly foolish, and put it out of his mind.

He sat down on the couch and waited. New, black leather— very Crowley— and made himself at home as he waited.

Crowley came back to the main room not following any threatening shouting, which must’ve meant all was well in the nursery.

“So,” he said, strolling over and then dropping onto the other end of the couch dramatically. He looked relaxed in an instant, long legs sprawled out in front of him, one arm stretched along the back of the couch. “What’s it going to be tonight?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened and had he made himself speak he probably would have stumbled over his words. Luckily, Crowley went on to answer his own question.

“I’m happy with anything not set in the middle ages,” he leaned forward and picked up a title from the stack on table in front of him and flipping it over to look at the back. It was Aziraphale’s stack.

“I told you,” Aziraphale started without thinking about it, though he welcomed the distraction. “They’re fantasy settings, not necessarily intended to be identical to any earthly period.”

“Whatever. I’m thinking eighteen-hundreds. Any suggestions?”

“Despite how odd it is to categorize films based on the time period in which they take place— yes, I do have one that should work,” Aziraphale leaned forward and pulled a title out of the stack.

“Is it funny?” Crowley asked off-handedly.

“Sometimes…” Aziraphale muttered in reply as he handed it off. Normally he would have answered that question with something like “just wait and see!” or “it shouldn’t have to be in order for you to appreciate it” but… he wasn’t quite himself this evening. Crowley had already noticed, and Aziraphale was sure that was the reason he didn’t comment on the lack of any real answer.

o-o-o

Crowley watched.

That was a good sign, or a sign that he didn’t hate Aziraphale’s choice. Most of the time it was hard to get him to sit still through an entire film if it didn’t contain constant action. He’d get restless, wander around, stare out his window— often during the best parts!

This time Aziraphale was the distracted one. Crowley was sitting still, eyes on the screen. About a half-hour in he’d taken his sunglasses off and leaned forward to set them on the table. The movement drew Aziraphale’s eyes, and then the profile view of Crowley’s eyes drew them too. His usual hard expression was still there, but there was simply more to it when one could see the reactions in his eyes. Aziraphale could see more, and since Crowley left hell for good, he supposed he was the only one who ever got to.

That was one article of clothing Crowley couldn’t take off for a human. He’d wondered before how many of them had thought it strange, but now the thought set him at ease. If he was going to be irrationally jealous despite his best efforts, it was nice to realize one part of Crowley was all his.

Except once he fully processed it, that thought just made it worse.

Aziraphale tried to focus on the screen, but he’d seen it multiple times so it was difficult. Still, humans had a tendency to drown their problems by becoming engrossed in the problems of others, even fictional others, so perhaps he could do the same.

o-o-o-o

When the film ended, Aziraphale was pleased to find that he’d begun to pay attention to and appreciate it by half-way in. So much so that the moment the credits rolled, a smile stretched across his face and he turned to Crowley beside him.

“Well,” he said, proudly. “What did you think?”

Crowley took a moment to answer, cleared his throat and rubbed his hands on his pants. “Great, it was great…” his voice seemed distant, but Aziraphale was certain he’d been paying attention. “Engaging, not really my genre, but good for what it is.”

“Yes, well, next time when it’s your turn we can watch people being eaten alive by giant sn—…”

“You all right, Angel?” Crowley interrupted, and Aziraphale pursed his lips mid-sentence. It was the third time Crowley had asked him. “Ever since dinner…” Crowley trailed off.

“I told you, I’m fine. Just a little under the weather…”

“Angels don’t get sick.” Crowley gave him one of the most cock-eyed looks he’d seen on him in a long time.

Aziraphale took a deep breath, looked him in the eye. “Crowley I’m fine.”

Crowley stared back at him for a few seconds, probably deciding whether or not he believed it. In the end, as usual, he seemed to accept it.

“All right, then.” He heaved a sigh as he rose to his feet. “I’m going to go sleep. You want to stay?” Crowley asked, tossing the question over his shoulder.

“Yes,” Aziraphale nodded, thinking only that it wasn’t that late, but Crowley didn’t exactly follow a schedule when it came to taking naps. “I may watch another one of these or… read a book…”

“Whatever you want, the place is yours.” Crowley mumbled as he walked away, scratching his head, leaving his sunglasses there on the table. Aziraphale watched him until he disappeared around a corner at the far end of the nursery, and then everything became extremely quiet.

There was a buzzing in Aziraphale’s head, not the kind that reminded him of Beelzebub but definitely an annoying sort. He did put on another film in hopes of drowning it out. It was one that Crowley hadn’t paid attention to, hadn’t had much opinion on at all. All the better to keep the demon out of his mind.

It didn’t work well, but he managed to make it to the end while at least half paying attention. His thoughts continuously drifted elsewhere, which was different considering he’d never in the past been prone to overthinking. Crowley must’ve been rubbing off on him, as he had been for six-thousand years. A few weeks ago he might’ve had better luck chasing the thoughts away. But he was tired now, and instead he was running out of reasons to bother. What was he waiting for now?

Perhaps some part of him wondered, did Crowley even… feel what he felt?

Despite there likely being no man who’d ever known another man as well as he did Crowley, he wished he knew him better. Six-thousand years and he didn’t know, couldn’t be sure, couldn’t logic himself into any kind of faith or belief on the matter. When had he become so frustratingly human?

Aziraphale had been sitting for a long time. He needed to stretch his legs, and clear his mind. He decidedly pushed himself up from the couch, straightened his jacket, and in just a moment he found himself glancing in the direction of Crowley’s jacket, hung up on the rack.

He stared at it, a cinematic of Crowley tucking the folded piece of paper into his inner jacket pocket playing in his mind.

Taking a deep breath and glancing in the direction of Crowley’s bedroom, Aziraphale propelled himself across the room on sheer force of refusing to overthink the one thing he viciously wanted to do. He kept glancing in the direction Crowley had disappeared to, grumbling little encouragements to himself, making up different excuses to definitely do what he was doing as he continued to do it.

He pulled the slip of paper out and unfolded it to find ten digits messily scrawled across it. He glanced back one more time, and then determinedly tore the paper in half down the middle. He placed the torn pieces on top of each other, and tore them in half again. He continued that action about four times until it was thoroughly shredded.

He felt foolish once the pieces were too small to tear anymore, sitting in his hands. He could have just snapped his fingers and miracled the thing out of existence but his mind had convinced him something physical would have been more satisfying.

Then again, looking down at the shreds in his hands as he started to let them fall from his hands, satisfaction wasn’t quite what he felt.

He watched as the torn up paper fell from his fingers and each piece fluttered to the ground like snowflakes in the dark, each one its own guilt trip until the last one finally settled. He shouldn’t have done that. He should pick them up and throw them away to hide it…

No, he should leave them there and confess to Crowley what he’d done in the morning. Or, heaven forbid, miracle them back together… or just tell Crowley it was a necessary measure of thwarting—

“What the hell are you doing, Angel?” The voice was just behind him. Just behind him, nearly on top of him, so close that he couldn’t believe he hadn’t sensed the demon coming.

“Ah…” Aziraphale froze up, couldn’t turn around. Crowley was close enough to peer over his shoulder at the scattered mess of torn up paper.His voice sounded tired. Aziraphale had seen films where people’s voices changed to sound tired when they had just been sleeping. He’d never heard it in person before, though, and definitely not so close to his ear. Something about the rough, scratchy, laziness of it made his heart pound.

“I’m sorry…” Aziraphale fumbled the words out before he had time to think over what he should say. “I shouldn’t have…” he looked miserably down at the torn up paper, having dug himself into a hole.

“I don’t care that much,” Crowley didn’t sound like he was disappointed, so Aziraphale believed him. It didn’t make him feel better, though. “Why, though?” Crowley hadn’t backed off yet. He’d already caught Aziraphale red-handed so there was no reason to continue looming over him like this. Aziraphale could feel his breath on his neck still, and it was driving him insane.

Aziraphale made a choice, and quickly turned on his toes. He was going to tell Crowley the truth— or a confused version of it, because that’s what he was. Confused. And—

_Good heavens._

Crowley wasn’t wearing a shirt.

“Oh,” Aziraphale stuttered, eyes moving down from his neck— they never had quite made it up to his face. “Oh no.” Aziraphale had made eye contact with his Crowley’s chest, arms, stomach- and there was where he found himself stuck.

“Yes, well…” he spoke with a shake in his voice, shifting his weight from one side to the other as if he was arguing with the spot just above Crowley’s belly-button because it had accused him of something unsavory.

In his defense he didn’t think he’d ever seen Crowley shirtless before. He’d worn low-cut, button-ups without half the buttons, but Crowley was always wearing something. He wasn’t sure what it meant to like it, except that he wasn’t supposed to. But he did a lot of things he wasn’t supposed to do.

A burst of inspiration! Crowley was a creature of darkness, and it was dark, and it stood to reason that his eyes had thoroughly adjusted to the dark as he’d been asleep for nearly an hour. Aziraphale raised his hand, snapped his fingers and muttered

“Let there be light!” and immediately watched Crowley cringe away in agony, covering his eyes with one hand. 

It would only take a moment for Crowley to force his eyes into adjusting or to just undo Aziraphale’s little trick, but it would be long enough for Aziraphale to gather himself.

“What the heaven,” Crowley groaned, apparently still too sleepy to think on his feet. Almost to Aziraphale’s surprise, the light didn’t immediately go out, and in the time Crowley spent grumbling about it irritating his eyes Aziraphale was able to scurry across the room and switch on the lamp. As soon as he did, he removed the little miracle of light he’d created near the ceiling. When he turned, Crowley had stopped moaning, and was just pulling his hand away from covering his eyes, which he’d apparently magic-ed into adjusting more quickly. Now Aziraphale was safe across the room and grinning with victory.

There was a short silence between them, before…

“You’re acting weird, Angel. M’going back to bed…” Crowley turned around, and Aziraphale should have been relieved. But instead, internally, he started to panic as something inside him screamed don’t go.

Crowley had sauntered two lazy steps of his usual walk. Despite what he’d just gone through to get some distance between them, Aziraphale found himself hurrying to cross that distance again.

Crowley stopped at the sound of the footsteps, and turned back around.

He stood there still, facing Aziraphale again, every part of him relaxed and just waiting. Meanwhile Aziraphale’s hands were rubbing over one another in front of him as he took a deep breath. This was all new to him. Very new! He should have been allowed to be terrified…

“Crowley…” he managed to get the name out in his most serious voice, because this was serious. He was going to say something absolutely, show-stoppingly, earth-shatteringly serious! He just had to get it off his tongue.

“Angel…” Crowley’s voice was softer now, more awake, and Aziraphale, who’d been looking at something just beyond Crowley’s left arm, looked up to him. Crowley’s hand was already inches from the side of his face when their eyes met. A shaking breath passed through Aziraphale’s lips as Crowley’s palm touched his cheek, eyes full of concern.

“What is it? You’ve been off all night…”

Aziraphale wanted to stamp his foot. Damn Crowley for the soft sound of his voice and the gentle look in his eye. The way he lulled Aziraphale into a sense of bliss, convinced him that he’d never need anything except what they had right here. He was trying to say something, damn it!

He deflated, leaning into Crowley’s hand but ultimately feeling defeated. Crowley smiled at him, and Aziraphale’s heart did a flip.

No sunglasses. That smile reached all the way to his eyes and there was so much fondness in them, he could feel it. So much concern, so much care, so much…

“C’mon…” Crowley said, hand falling away from Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale missed it immediately. “We can do breakfast at one of those all-night places if you like…” Crowley had walked away again, crossing the room to pluck his jacket off a rack by the door.

“Damn it, Crowley, stop walking away from me…” Aziraphale heard the words from his mouth before he’d decided to say them. He wasn’t hungry, and he’d once again crossed the space between them to stand directly in front of Crowley.

“…All right…” Crowley obliged, and stood still like he’d been told.

Aziraphale stopped, having completely and totally forgotten the very, very serious thing he’d planned to say just a moment ago. But this time Crowley was still, not moving or reaching out to him or looking at him like he was made of warmth. Just… expectantly.

A grunt of determination was all Aziraphale managed to get out as he took a step forward. His hand rose up as deliberately as the rest of him moved, slipping behind Crowley’s head to hold it still as he pushed himself forward onto his toes to leave the smallest kiss on the demon’s lips.

It was chaste, a fraction of a second, and it wasn’t until he was retreating that the chill of what lips felt like against his set in. His hand was falling back to his side, he was turning away, not sure where he was running to, but he knew that was all he had in him.

He froze when his wrist was caught. He let himself be pulled, turned back around, slow at first until suddenly he’d been spun half-way round and another hand snaked its way around his waist. It nudged him closer, close enough that all Aziraphale had to do was tilt his head up to be kissing him this time.

He didn’t, but Crowley did.

Crowley kissed him like he knew what he was doing, moved his lips and everything, and thank God for that. Or, probably not God, but—

—anyway Aziraphale kissed him back, pulled him closer by his waist as the need to be covered by him like a blanket became more and more apparent. Crowley was certainly too narrow for that, but he could make sure every part of him was touching him—

“Angel—,” Crowley said, voice breathy, but he didn’t get anything else out because he just kept kissing him. With his tongue. In Aziraphale’s mouth.

It felt exquisite, and Aziraphale heard the most undignified moan spill out of him and vibrate its way into Crowley's mouth.

Something in Crowley changed. The gentle, guiding touch of his arm around Aziraphale’s waist turned into a rough hold. Fingers dug into his hip, he pulled Aziraphale’s body hard against his and tilted his head, making a desperate sound like he couldn’t get enough. Neither could Aziraphale. He’d grown tired of the comparison of wonderful things to heaven. His experiences in heaven were pleasant; always, endlessly pleasant and not a single second of it compared to this. So when the thought passed through his mind, ‘heaven’ had been replaced with ‘Crowley.’

Crowley’s tongue tangled and twisted around his like it may have been longer than a human body’s was supposed to be. Aziraphale made a desperate sound as it seized every ounce of control he had, and in the same moment he found himself being spun around until his back hit the wall hard just beside the coat rack. It wobbled, and nearly fell until Crowley shot out a hand to catch it.

Things paused after that. Literally, like someone had hit the pause button on a vhs player, neither of them were moving or speaking. Crowley’s eyes were almost all black, the yellow only at the edges, and they were so close they were all Aziraphale could see. His lips were all but touching Aziraphale’s and Aziraphale’s heart was pounding with need as he wondered why they’d stopped. After all this time, what could Crowley possibly be waiting for now?

It took a long time for Crowley to smile. A weary smile that crossed his lips slowly, his whole body seeming to relax just as it appeared. 

“Not too fast for you?” He asked, humor and soft concern laced through it equally. He shifted on his feet, bobbing his head forward so their lips touched again for just a moment as he sucked in a breath. It was obvious he didn’t want to be in pause any more than Aziraphale did, but it was clear now that Crowley was still waiting for him, checking back before he went too far ahead.

He probably would have waited forever.

“Dear,” Aziraphale said, trying to match the softness in Crowley’s voice, but instead something breathy and deep and needy came out of him. “…after everything we’ve been through you’re not going fast enough.”

Crowley’s eyes widened with curiosity. Aziraphale could see he was going to need to be more blunt.

“Please…” his voice came out desperate and shaking, barely made it past a whisper, “I want you so much.”

Crowley slammed his hands against the wall on either side of Aziraphale’s face, clearly becoming over excited as he darted in to steal Aziraphale’s lips in another kiss. Aziraphale grabbed him, wrapped his arms around him and pulled because he was new to feeling Crowley so close and pressed up against him but he didn’t think he’d ever want to let go now. He’d never, on any plain of heaven nor earth, felt as warm as he did in Crowley’s arms. Perhaps part of that warmth was born of hell’s fire, but he knew, had always known, that no matter how close he got or now many times he reached out to touch it, he wouldn’t be burned.

Just held. And if he has his way, forever.

**Author's Note:**

> ta-dah!! i guess,, idk bye


End file.
